Impasse
by GennyWrites57
Summary: SPOILER-HEAVY FOR THOR: RAGNAROK. In the aftermath of Hela's destruction, Thor struggles to accept his new position as the King of Asgard. Meanwhile, Loki watches from the sidelines and wonders if perhaps he was wrong to return with Thor here, expected to act as if nothing ever happened. Can these two brothers ever repair a family once thought broken beyond recognition? Oneshot.


"Spar with me."

It was the first time in what seemed like an eternity he'd heard such a request from Thor, and it came at such an odd time – against such a colorful backdrop of the particularly gruesome last several days the two of them had both experienced – that, at first, Loki hardly allowed himself the chance to process it. The words glided through his ears as smoothly as water, meaningless and muted by the ceaseless buzzing of his own thoughts, and it was only after several seconds had passed by in an increasingly uncomfortable silence that he blinked and cast a look just over his shoulder. He didn't know exactly what it was he'd expected to see – and yet, here he was, genuinely _surprised_ to find his brother (no, _not_ his real brother, why did he still reflexively call him that?) standing right there behind him . . . looking painfully, _pathetically_ expectant.

"Are you mad?" was Loki's response, a knee-jerk reaction caught somewhere between unflattering disbelief and an attempt at his usual nonchalant sarcasm. "We've been aboard this vessel for scarcely a day, and already, you find yourself in need of a punching bag? Were the years of service I provided you in that venue not enough?" He'd meant for the last statement to leave him in the same unfettered tone he always adopted whenever he deigned to broach the subject of their past together, and yet, even the liesmith himself could scarcely conceal the tinge of bitterness working its way into his tone.

Whether he still felt too exhausted from the events of the last few days or because he simply no longer felt like indulging Loki in his verbal attacks, Thor laughed rather than rise to his younger sibling's bait. "Maybe I'm simply trying to teach you to fight as boldly as you talk, Brother." There was no animosity in his tone – merely a teasing lightness that harkened back to times that were now long gone. The god of thunder punctuated his sentence with a gentle nudge to Loki's shoulder, a call for a truce (if only a temporary one) without any words. "Come on. I would have thought you'd relish the chance to use me for target practice."

Loki fixed Thor with a withering stare. "Yes, and with every syllable, I promise you that you're tempting me to do more than that," he deadpanned. "If there's one thing you've never been gifted with, Thor, it's the art of taking _no_ for an answer. Now leave me, unless you wish to find yourself deprived of a limb."

It was an insincere threat if either of them had ever heard one; even Loki's heart wasn't in the insult, his typical icy malice replaced with a cool indifference. Thor swept the trickster over with an appraising stare; though one eye was now covered by an impressive eyepatch (he looked every inch the Allfather's son now, Loki couldn't help but notice dispassionately) the look in his one good eye was intimidating enough. There was no threat in his gaze now, though, merely curiosity . . . still, it made Loki exceedingly uncomfortable. He felt oddly exposed, as though he'd been laid out upon a surgical table and cut wide open, all the most vulnerable parts of him – everything he'd always tried to keep hidden from the rest of the world – now laid bare for everyone to see. Most concerning of all was how adept Thor seemed to be getting when it came to reading him; usually, his "brother" could be counted upon to miss the truth of him, to let his romanticized view of the past cloud his view of reality.

But now? If Loki were being completely honest – a rare and extraordinary feat for him – then he'd have to admit that sometimes, it seemed that Thor understood the true measure of things even better than he did himself. (Though, of course, he'd sooner die a thousand painful deaths than concede to such a thing out loud.)

Only now did the expression on Thor's face darken slightly. As he spoke, his tone of voice maintained a steadiness so unlike the brash, headstrong young man that Loki had grown up with - could it really be true that the newly-crowned king of Asgard had changed that much? "I'll never understand it," he said, with a resigned sort of sigh.

"Oh, _what_ is that?" Loki fired back, a derisive sneer curling up at the corners of his thin mouth. "Do relieve yourself of that patronizing tone, _Brother_. It really doesn't suit you."

"Nor do such poorly-crafted lies suit you," said Thor. "For someone who spends his days swearing up and down he doesn't care what others think of him, you spend an astonishing amount of time trying to convince me you're somebody that you're not, you know." There was a thoughtful pause. "And you bring it on yourself. All this misery of yours. I almost don't think you'd even know who to be without it."

Even Loki couldn't deny the distressing accuracy of such an assessment. Still, this was a matter of pride, and he kept his carefully-constructed mask of calm locked firmly in place, never once allowing the stony hardness of his blue eyes to waver, even under Thor's scrutiny. He couldn't pretend to guess at whatever sort of soul-searching the god of thunder had done during their time apart – at the time, he'd just been all too happy to keep the bumbling oaf away from the kingdom so he could rule in peace – but whatever it was hadn't just altered a few traits, shaved away the boyish arrogance or humbled him just enough. Rather, it had fundamentally altered the man he'd once called his brother; he'd been forged in a blazing fire and emerged as someone entirely new, someone – dare he say it? – _worthy_ of the throne he'd always been promised. The thought did little to bring an end to Loki's envy; that much, he supposed, would always be a part of him, a hurt that had festered too deeply to ever hope to be entirely reversed. But it did bring with it a sort of begrudging respect . . . or, if anything, at least encouraged him to bide his time a bit longer.

And it did give him cause to wonder . . . if Thor had indeed changed so much in so little time, then where did that leave Loki himself?

"If you've come to bestow words of wisdom upon me," drawled Loki, finally turning swiftly on his heel to give Thor his full attention now, "about how I'm doomed to forever be met with dissatisfaction unless I – what – show _repentance_ or some such nonsense, then I beg you spare me. I have heard quite enough of that same sad song for one lifetime, thank you."

To his surprise, Thor chuckled again. "I know," said Odin's son, the nostalgic warmth in his voice – the longing for the days that had long passed them by – so heavy in the air between them that Loki felt as though he might break under its weight. "Do you really think me so foolish? You stopped listening to me long ago, Loki, don't think it escaped my notice. Sometimes I still wonder if maybe perhaps I should have fought harder . . . if, maybe then, you would have heard me . . ." Loki averted his gaze now, staring pointedly at the space just over Thor's shoulder to avoid the burn of direct eye contact, "but all along, I should have known that the two of us were just meant for different things."

For the first time in his life, the god of mischief, even with his famed silver tongue, found himself at a loss for words. Clenching his jaw firmly – the last thing he wanted to do was simply stare, mouth agape like a drooling imbecile, until some sort of clever comeback fell into his head – Loki drew in a deep breath through his nose, searching his brother's gaze, deep in thought. There was a time when he might have been grateful to hear those words; hadn't he fought so hard, for so long, just to shake himself free of Thor's shadow? Hadn't he always wanted the freedom to be left to his own devices, to go where he wished and rule as he saw fit, without the witless wonder here to drag him back into the dark and away from the glory, where everyone had always believed he belonged? Some part of him should have been _rejoicing_ at this opportunity. Indeed, he certainly felt a sense of relief, of victory, but it seemed strangely short-lived. _What now?_ he couldn't help but think.

Over the years, all that had kept him tethered to Thor had been that very factor to their relationship, the constant push and pull between the two of them that always reared its ugly head at Loki's most opportune moments. He'd used it as a sort of escape, he supposed, a free ticket to weasel his way out of any form of commitment to a singular idea or moral standing; if he were unable to pin down, ever-changing and unpredictable as the wind through the trees, then no one ever need hold him accountable for what they deemed his "mistakes" or poor choices. Not only that, but as the years of resentment and unresolved wounds had widened the already-impassible crevice between them, he'd used the distance to his advantage . . . drawn closer when it served him, only to tear himself away again and flee into the horizon, leaving Thor emotionally worse for wear and all the more in the dark. What _was_ he, now that he no longer had that on his side? Most of all – what were _they_? Who were Thor and Loki without that tug-of-war? His brother had a purpose – to rule, just as he'd been groomed to do all his life – but what of Loki? _Perhaps it would have been better_ , he thought dispiritedly, _to have stayed on Sakaar all along._

To say that he'd ever actually _wanted_ Thor to give up the chase would be a lie, and not a very good one at that. In a bizarre, roundabout sort of way, Loki had derived at least a little enjoyment out of it; or, more accurately, he'd always taken advantage of lashing out just to see if his "brother" cared enough to come back and try again. And it had worked – for what seemed like eons now, he'd been playing the same manipulative game, unsure where or when it crossed the thin, hazy line between toying with Thor's emotions and Loki's own desperate searching to find some sense of belonging. It was pathetic, weak of him to feel so lost now that such a thing had been removed from the equation. And yet, for whatever reason (whether it was recovering from the shock of his newfound status as Asgard's "savior", or simply trying his best to take in this new attitude of Thor's, he couldn't say) Loki couldn't help but feel that familiar sense of panic washing over him. He loathed the idea of staying in one place forever as much as he secretly welcomed it. It was enough to make him wonder if he'd chosen wisely, to come along like this, to play the hero when all his life he'd been relegated to quite a different role.

Pushing all those troubling, complicated thoughts to the back-burner, though, he instead chose to give a derisive snort, roll his eyes, and respond, "I still fail to see what any of this melodrama of yours has to do with me sparring with you." His sharp blue eyes narrowed in an expression of mingled suspicion and amusement. "Unless you've finally managed to take a leaf from my book, and this is nothing more than a clever ruse. I don't suppose you've another cell waiting for me down below deck, with everyone else you've deemed morally irreparable?" The words were more sarcastic than accusatory, but Loki's caustic, biting sense of humor had always had an edge to it, and thus, he was hardly surprised to see Thor flinch back from it slightly.

"I won't lie to you – part of me considered it," said Thor when the silence between them had stretched a bit too long for comfort. To Loki's mildest surprise, though, a smile touched the corners of the god of thunder's mouth. "But it occurred to me that there's far more here on this ship to keep you in line than just another pretty cage. Valkyrie, for instance. Or, if you wish for a greater challenge, I'm sure Hulk would be willing to lend his skills." A laugh, deep and full enough to resound at an almost mocking volume throughout the annals of the ship, escaped Thor at the sight of how quickly Loki's face had blanched over. "You always require me to keep on my toes, Loki; you can't fault me for being creative."

In an effort to disguise the electric jolt of fear that coursed its way down his spine at the mere _mention_ of the beast (Loki considered himself a formidable fighter in his own right, but he wasn't so foolish as to press his luck or take risks that he knew would only result in pain), he cleared his throat and set his jaw stubbornly. Thin mouth little more than a curt gash across the sharp planes of his face, Loki sighed and answered, "Well, I'm so _very_ pleased that you seem to find the whole ordeal so entertaining. Now may I be left in peace? Surely Asgard's favorite Pyrite Prince has far more esteemed ways to squander his time than by pestering me." Yet, in spite of his cutting words, there was little that could be done to hide the familiar smirk that lifted the edge of Loki's mouth, nor could he extinguish the look in his eyes that seemed a million things at once – amusement, melancholy, nostalgia, even (though he'd never admit it) something dangerously close to regret.

"Ah, but you're by far the most _fun_ to pester."

"Dear me – what an _honor_ that is."

With a dry, monosyllabic bark of laughter, Loki shook his head and stepped to the side, meaning to glide smoothly past Thor, away from him, away from all these emotional sore spots. Unfortunately, he didn't make it too far before Thor caught on.

"Wait, Loki – "

He reached out, and with little effort (perhaps because secretly, the trickster wasn't putting up nearly as much of a fight as he might have let on) managed to catch Loki's bicep, anchoring him to the spot for just a moment longer. If his younger brother were tempted to squirm his way out of his grip and simply go on about his business, he didn't show it. Though he simply stared straight ahead, determined not to meet Thor's gaze, there was something distinct in the way he carried himself – still as prideful as ever, but almost reticent, certainly more receptive than Thor had ever known him to be – that conveyed the truth.

" _Now_ what? Haven't I already told you I've no intention of sparring with you today? I know you assume I've no life outside of you, Thor, but as it turns out, I do have previous engagements." Another lie, but who would fault him for it?

Thor quickly shook his head, the look in his eyes so suddenly serious that it was a bit alarming. "You don't have to spar with me if you truly do not wish to. But I do wish for you to stay. And listen. Hear me, and then you can leave. Do whatever you like. Work on your next plans to betray me if you must. But this, first, you need to hear." The pause that followed this sentence seemed to stretch on for an eternity; it was only when Loki, at last, deigned to swivel his gaze and meet Thor's eyes that the conversation continued, the trickster doing his best to ignore the anxious hammering of his heart all the while. "You have wronged me, Brother, do not think that I forget it. You wronged Father . . . and Mother." At this, Loki immediately opened his mouth to protest, but Thor cut in quickly. "Your constant betrayals wore us _all_ thin, whether you know it or not. Our hearts broke for you. Time and again, I found myself hoping that one day, you would find your way back again. Find whatever it is you need in this life to make you feel content at last. But nothing ever seemed to be enough."

Rolling his eyes (mostly in an attempt to cover up his discomfort) Loki averted his gaze once again. "Will you never cease these ridiculous efforts at examining my psyche? Have you forced me to listen to this simply to prove to yourself that you've somehow got me figured out? Because, loath as I am to be the bearer of unfortunate news, you've not discovered the truth of it. Not anything."

"For once in your life, let me finish a thought, Loki," Thor replied, though there was no anger in his tone. "I am here to tell you that, in spite of all that has happened . . . for now, at least, I am willing to put it behind me. I will not forget," he warned, raising his eyebrows and searching the trickster's gaze for any tell of a potential betrayal, "but a temporary call for peace is necessary. The people of Asgard – our people – "

" _Your_ people," Loki interrupted.

"No, not just mine – you grew up right alongside me, Loki. Whether or not you choose to accept it, these are your people every bit as much as mine. And right now, they need leadership. They need _both_ of us at our best. No more of the past dragging us back." Thor regarded him seriously for a moment, then added, "If the two of us are constantly chasing one another around in circles, nothing will ever get accomplished. I know it's hardly your pace, but we must establish some sort of truce. They deserve as much."

The irony of the situation as a whole was certainly not lost on Loki. It had been so long ago now, and yet it seemed like only yesterday that they'd stood side-by-side just like this, with Thor posed to inherit the throne of Asgard. The god of thunder had been young and foolish back then (well, his brother _still_ considered him foolish, but at least he'd shown some signs of improvement since) and time and again, had rejected any sort of assistance on Loki's part. He'd insisted from the very beginning on doing everything by himself, whether for the glory of just being able to say he'd done it that way or simply because it was how he'd been raised to behave. And now, here he was again, asking – no, better still, pleading – for Loki's help. Ah, yes, they'd had this conversation before . . . how very like him, Loki observed, to suddenly demonstrate such humility, such willingness to listen, when the results of the behavior would benefit him. _And he marks_ me _as the manipulative one_ , the trickster thought with a quiet, amused snort.

Yet, he couldn't deny that it was a tempting prospect. He knew the harm that came with pretending, fooling himself into thinking that he'd ever truly mattered, would ever belong in the same way that Thor always had (the very blood flowing through his own veins, icy and ancient, did enough to prove that thought wrong.) All the same, he couldn't bring himself to turn his back entirely to the idea of his "brother" inviting him to share in the glory, to stand as his equal for just a moment . . . . Perhaps he didn't yearn for the approval of Thor and his now-deceased adoptive parents in the way that he once did, with such a fierce desperation that it had nearly blinded him, but it wasn't a hunger that ever truly died out.

Perhaps now he no longer wished to be a part of Asgard. Perhaps now he simply wished to _be_. To exist freely, as himself, with no obligations to anyone or expectations that were impossible for him to uphold.

"Yes, well . . . " Loki began at last, his voice trailing off as his blue eyes, questing and curious in spite of himself, searched Thor's. "After such a _truly touching_ spew of emotion as that, how could I refuse?" As usual, he'd opted to go on the defensive rather than show any true vulnerability, hiding behind his own cleverness to escape being caught. "You may rest assured, Brother, that I have no higher designs for this kingdom or you." Also not an entirely true statement, but coming from Loki, was that a surprise to anyone? "You may have your truce. I'll leave well enough alone, and you will go on to do whatever it is you do, and then . . . well, I suppose the outcome rests with you, does it not?"

Thor sighed. "Fair enough, I suppose."

"But – I should warn you," said Loki, a smirk lifting the edges of his mouth, his eyes bright with an all-too-familiar sort of mischief. "Don't expect me to stoop so low as to show you friendliness." In spite of the disdain bleeding through in his tone of voice, there was a joking (if not slightly harsh) edge to his voice that helped to dilute the sting of the words. "You'll have to work to attain meaningless platitudes from me, I'm afraid."

This time, a smile actually touched the god of thunder's features. "Very well. I look forward to watching you eat those words."

And, as he stared after Loki's retreating form (he had always been the sort to simply vanish, slinking off to do whatever business he thought more important without feeling he owed anyone an explanation) Thor couldn't help but wonder . . . was that what it felt like? To have a completely normal – if somewhat stilted – conversation with the brother he'd once thought dead to him, dead to his whole family? Could things finally be repairing themselves, or was this a wound cut too deep, left to fester for too long?

Time, he supposed, would tell.


End file.
